I stared out of my high-rise office window, the Mumbai skyline a blur as my mind wandered. Another day, another deal, another rupee. My business empire was thriving, but my personal life was a desert. Lonely and heartbroken.
As I turned back to my desk, my gaze fell on the old book lying open on the edge. I had found it in a dusty corner of my home library last weekend, intrigued by its yellowed pages and faded cover. The words of a long-forgotten poet had transported me to a different era, one where love was a raw, emotional thing, not just a fleeting swipe right.
And then, I saw them. Tucked between the pages, a bundle of letters, tied with a faded ribbon. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the handwriting. Mine. And hers.
Gauri.
The memories came flooding back. Our whirlwind romance, the passionate letters we exchanged, the promises we made. It was a lifetime ago, when I was just a teenager, full of hope and dreams. I had forgotten all about these letters, about Gauri, until now. Or maybe I didn't bother to think.
Why had I kept them all these years? And why was I holding my breath, hoping against hope that she...
My mind raced as I untied the ribbon and gently unfolded the first letter. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded, but Gauri's words still leapt off the page. I remembered writing my own letters, pouring my heart out to her, and receiving hers in return. We were each other's confidants, our letters a lifeline during those tumultuous teenage years.
As I read on, memories long buried began to resurface. Our secret meetings at the Haji Ali Dargah, our laughter-filled walks along Marine Drive, our whispers of forever in each other's ears. I had thought I'd forgotten it all, but the letters brought it all back.
But life had taken us apart. College, careers, and time had erased the intensity of our love. I'd built a business empire, while Gauri... I had no idea what she'd done with her life.
And yet, here I was, holding onto these letters like a lifeline. Why?
I looked around my office, at the trappings of success, and felt a hollowness inside. Was this all there was? I thought of Gauri, wondering what she was doing now, if she ever thought of me...
I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'd lost something precious. I have wasted a lot of time. I needed to find Gauri, to know what had become of her. Was she happy? Did she ever think of me?
I turned to my computer and opened a search engine, typing in her name. The results were overwhelming - there were so many Gauris in Mumbai. I needed a lead, something to narrow down the search.
That's when I remembered the last letter she'd written, the one where she mentioned her dream of opening a small art studio in Bandra. I typed in "Gauri's Art Studio" and held my breath.
A single result popped up - a small studio in Bandra, run by a Gauri Sharma. My heart skipped a beat as I clicked on the link, revealing a website filled with beautiful paintings and sculptures.
It had to be her.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the number listed on the website. It rang several times before a soft voice answered.
"Gauri's Art Studio, hello?"
My voice caught in my throat. "Gauri?"
There was a pause, and for a moment, I thought I'd lost the connection.
"Omkara?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I smiled, hoping to reconnect.
"Gauri, I-"
But before I could say another word, the line went dead. She'd hung up on me.
